


I Only Know When It Hurts

by 98percent



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 05:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5445614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/98percent/pseuds/98percent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ask anyone in UKHQ, they would tell you Gary Unwin and Charlie Hesketh hate each other. It was like magic, really, it was hate at first sight.<br/>**********************<br/>Aka, Charlie spends too much time resenting how first Eggsy, and then Harry Hart ruined his life. T and up for language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I really need to get it out of my system.  
> And yes, I ship both Charlie/Eggsy and Harry/Eggsy. I'm shameless.
> 
> Sept 17: Annnd I'm back! Yep, I'm not dead yet. Thanks for anyone who's reading this!! I think I'm going to finish this in a week. There will be one more chapter to go! Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I re-edit this chapter! Can't believe how many mistakes I made the first time. Thank you all for bearing with my terrible grammar :D

It only makes sense, that whereas there’s love at first sight, there’s also hate at first sight.

It started like this.

“So, Eggy, right?”

“No,” the boy frowns, “it’s Eggsy.”

Charlie looks down and grins.

**********************

It was like magic, one short glance and they hate each other guts.

Charlie can’t quite put his fingers on this new impulse. Charlie hates a lot of people—what can you say, he is a man full of emotion—so he knows the general description of people he generally hates, and Gary Unwin doesn’t fit in.

Charlie hates stupid people, but Eggsy is smart. He hates the poor, not because they have no money, but because they’re always loathing others for the misery they caused themselves; but Eggsy is proud and cheeky as fuck and never blames anyone even when they are rightfully to blame. Charlie hates the naïve, and Eggsy’s anything but; he has seen it all and done it all but still, he keeps himself innocent. Charlie hates the weak, and, well, you know the story.

So Charlie doesn’t know. He wonders, though, and wonders often. All he knows it that his teeth ache at the sight of Gary Unwin, yearning for sinking into something, SOMEONE, and that his fingers twitch in anticipation, his skin tickles and prickles where blood surges underneath. And he itches—his whole body __itches__.

He can’t help himself.

**************************

Eggsy calls him mama’s boy, and Charlie dumps a whole bucket of ice cold water into his face.

Charlie trips him in a training session, and Eggsy feeds Charlie’s favourite shirt (how does he even figure out which one) to Rufus’ dog.

Eggsy beats him in weaponry, and Charlie kicks his ass in physical training.

Charlie plays dirty in hand-to-hand combat, sweeps the other boy out of balance and kicks him hard while no one is looking. Eggsy yells in pain, bounces up and jumps on him. He bites Charlie on the ear, and Charlie stumbles back, dumbstruck, hand pressed to the side of his head.

“You bit me! You little—” he tears his hand away from the wound, sticking them in front of his nose and gasps. “I’m bleeding! Fuck!”

“There’s yer lesson, **_**_prince_**_** ,” Eggsy spits the blood on the floor. Charlie lunges at him, and it takes a whole security team AND Percival to finally break them apart.

***********************

Things get better when they began working together. They still fight, a lot, and they never see each other eye to eye on no matter what; but they CAN work together, and when they work together, they pull things off.

Hell. Put the constantly trying to bite each other’s head off thing aside, people will say they even make a good team.

***********************

It started like this.

“Fuck ye!” Eggsy snarled.

“Fuck _YOU!”_ Charlie growled back, childishly.

And fuck they did.

************************

Nobody understands when or how it happens, but Charlie and Eggsy kind of bickered their way into a relationship.

They still yell at each other a lot, and fight a lot, but mostly it stays at the verbal level. On the surface, they still hate each other with no less passion, but they also cuddle up sometimes and occasionally, really, just occasionally, people see those two exchanging whispers, hands wandering on each other’s body, eyes low and soft without venom burning up behind.

“So,” Roxanne asks one day, eyes circling doubtfully over them, “are you two a thing now?”

Eggsy um-hums, eyes still glued on the disassembled gun in front of him, fingers working nimbly between the parts. Charlie is also attending to his weapon, but mostly he sneakily throws longing glances at Eggsy’s dancing fingers from across the table.

“I guess,” Eggsy says, utterly uninterested, while Charlie doesn’t bother to answer at all, “it’s nothin’ exciting, though. Mostly we just fuck. Turns out Chaco there is far better a lay than he is a man.”

Charlie throws a small metal part at Eggsy’s head. “Told you not to call me that,” he scowls.

“What, __Chaco__?” Eggsy picks up the small piece, stroking his forehead where it just hit. “M’ keepin’ this,” he announces, “Merlin’s gonna dismember ye alive when he finds out yer missing parts of yer gun.”

Charlie scowls some more.

Roxy eyes them with curiosity. “So,” she begins, “have you two kissed?”

They both look at her in horror. **_**_“Are y_**_** ** _ ** _e_**_** ** _ ** _mad?”_**_** Eggsy questions with a frown, “ _ _why d__ _ _’__ _ _ye even say things like tha__ _ _’__ _ _?__ ” And Charlie simply snorts.

****************************

Charlie tried saying ‘I love your bed head’ once, because he really does love Eggsy’s bed head, which is wild and crazy and rediculous but also lovely and strangely endearing, but Eggsy burst out laughing and calling him disgusting. Charlie never says anything like that again.

Eggsy bought Charlie a pair of plastic cufflinks for his birthday, claiming he can’t afford anything fancier.

“M’ a peasant,” he argues when Charlie narrows his eyes at the little box with disgust, “ye said it yerself. Really, what ye expect me to do?”

Charlie wears those cufflinks everyday, and he tells everyone who asks that those are a punishment from a losing bet.

Charlie can be one arrogant motherfucker sometimes, and if anything, it turns Eggsy incredibly on.

******************************

They build their relationship on insult, punches, a fleeting second of kindness, then endless fight and make-up sex. No one understands how the dynamic works except for themselves.

“How can they say that to each other?” people shake their heads, “those are not mean. Those are frigging vicious. They’re hurting each other.”

But Charlie just huffs. “Yeah,” he rolls his eyes, “like that piece of shit can hurt me by __words__.”

“I never say things ye don’t deserve,” Eggsy prompts helpfully.

Charlie grins with his teeth.

*******************************

One day Merlin walks into the lounge, and Charlie and Eggsy are snuggling together on the couch watching a rather lousy TV show, beer in hand, limbs tangling together.

Charlie gives Merlin a sour side-glance, clearly annoyed by his intrusion but is too proud to admit it out aloud. He looks contented—slightly condescending, but still. He turns his cheek to say something into Eggsy’s ear, probably something mean about the anchorwoman, and Eggsy bursts out giggling hysterically, spilling beer all over Charlie’s front.

“Ewwww,” charlie’s face crumples up in disgust, “you little fuck. You’re going to do my laundry.”

Eggsy blurts out without thinking. “Don’t ye ‘ave yer mommy do tha’ for ye?”

 

They fight again.

**************************

After an epic fight even for them where a lot of punches were throwed and swears were exchanged, Eggsy storms out of the door like a hurrican, but not before he told Charlie that he can go fuck himself from now on since Charlie deems himself the most perfect man in the world, which is pure bullshit, because Charlie never said he’s the most perfect, he just said Eggsy is the shittest.

Turns out Eggsy’s little tantrum turned into something big. And it proved Charlie's point, because Eggsy really is the shittest man. The shittest, __shittest__  man who thought it’s a good idea to singly venture into the shittest bar in the shittest part of town, drank himself out and out with the shittest booze, and then conveniently did some shit to piss off an entire local gang while he’s at it, and he even managed to piss off each different member with different reasons.

Charlie found him just in time.

It was two versus eleven, but together they beat the crap out of those thugs before police showed up and arrested them both for affray and public order offence.

“Are you fucking out of your tiny weenie mind!” Charlie growls, fist slamming into the iron bars, causing dreadful clashing noise that echos in the almost empty room. They were put into separate cells that face each other, much to Charlie’s indignation. “Are you fucking crazy Gary Unwin! One of them had a GUN!!” the one whose arm Charlie broke the second the weapon was lifted at Eggsy’s face.

Eggsy doesn’t answer. He is huddled up in the dirty corner of the cell, face pressed into his knees, arms hugging his shoulders. He is so drunk that Charlie can actually smell the alcohol from this far.

Charlie curses some more, and at some point, it turns into beg. “Eggy,” he pleads, “Eggy. Look at me. Are you hurt? Tell me you’re not. Talk to me.”

Still, Eggsy doesn’t answer, doesn’t even bother giving Charlie the finger like he always enjoys doing, so Charlie panics, and panic re-ignites Charlie’s anger beautifully like pouring oil onto fire. “Damn you Unwin!” he growls, “answer my fucking questions!”

An officer yells at him to shut up, who Charlie dutifully ignores. Some policeman comes in through the door, give them both a long judgmental look before going straight for Eggsy’s cell. “You,” he commands, “get to your feet and come with me.”

Eggsy stirs and looks up. He looks terrible, deep purple shadow circling his blood-shot eyes, face flushed unhealthily red while sweat dripping down his eyebrows. He doesn’t move, so the officer grabs his elbow and yanks him up.

“Don’ touch me,” Eggsy grumbles, swaying a little on his feet, trying weakly to jerk his arm free.

“Hey, are you fucking deaf!” Charlie yells from across the room, glaring at the policeman with burning rage, circling in his cell like a trapped animal, “he said don’t touch him!”

The policeman ignores them both. “Move!” he scolds, jabbing a billy club into Eggsy’s ribs.

Eggsy yelps in pain, and Charlie **_**_snaps_**_**.

 _ _“GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF HIM!”__ He growls, throwing himself at the steel bar with a deafening bang, “ _ _get your fucking hands off him NOW__ —or I’ll fucking maim you! I swear—”

He tears at the bar so madly that the metal actually creaks under his strength. The policeman almost pisses himself, scrambling out of the cell yelling for help. And that’s the moment when Harry Hart inserts his elegant ass into this hot mess of a situation.

“That’s enough,” he strides into the room in his shiny leather shoes, voice barely raising but drenched in unchallengeable authority, “who’s in charge here?”

And that’s that. They ends up driving back to HQ in a Kingsman standard cab, Harry Hart behind the wheel, Eggsy sleeping soundly in the passenger seat and Charlie sitting behind, alone, his silent resentment bores into Harry’s back, it’s a miracle the older man’s suit doesn’t blaze up in flame on sight.

*****************

TBC.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And that's why Charlie can't have nice things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you for anyone who's reading this! Not a lot of people ship Charlie and Eggsy, probably because Charlie was an asshole in the movie D: something must hit my head really hard because I really do enjoy fantasizing them together, A LOT, so...thank you for reading!  
> And for any hartwin lovers, please be aware this story is going to end in Charlie/Eggsy. Just a friendly heads-up! So you won't try to gouge your eyes out later:D
> 
> sept 17: I re-edit this chapter too! Picked out a lot of mistakes.

 

Fucking an angry Eggsy is always ace. But this time, Eggsy is angry, _AND_ drunk, which means double ace.

Charlie does not apologize after that, but then again, __when did he ever?__  This is how they roll, and they both agree it’s the best way. They mess up, they fuck, then they move on like the first part didn’t happen. Eggsy was sober by the time they were half-way through the second part, and he went even crazier, much to Charlie’s surprise (and gladness).

When they’re finished, Charlie is much more exhausted than he would like to admit. It’s been a long, long day, even for Kingsman standard, and he would very much like to cuddle with his mad colleague and then go to sleep; everything else can wait till the morning. But of course, his half wit of a boyfriend doesn’t think so. Eggsy nudges him with a toe, and kicks Charlie on the thigh when he doesn’t respond immediately. Charlie grumbles and rolls over, so Eggsy can drag his shirt out from under Charlie’s weight.

“What,” Charlie cracks an eye open, “why are you dressing?”

“M’ going home.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Charlie glares, but it’s not half as scary as Charlie wants it to be. “It’s midnight. You’ll get robbed ten times before any cab pick up your sorry ass. Just stay, I won’t throw you out if you don’t snore.”

Eggsy just shakes his head. “Nah. I’d better go home.” He stares down at his shirt with confusion. “‘Arry said he will pick me up. Did ye use my shirt to wipe lube when m’ not lookin’?”

Suddenly, Charlie finds himself not so sleepy anymore. He pushes himself up on the elbow. “Harry Hart,” He repeats.

It catches Eggsy’s attention. He turns to Charlie. “What?” he frowns, “What’s with ‘Arry?”

“Nothing  ** _ ** _wrong_**_** , obviously,” Charlie bites out.

“What’s tha’ supposed to mean?”

“Ngh. Drop it. I was being stupid.”

“Ha!” Eggsy points at him triumphantly, “first time ye admit it without me beating ye half to death.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You never beat me half to death.”

“Whatever helps ye sleep at night, Chaco.” Eggsy answers absently, “I’ll see ye tomorrow.” 

Charlie waves him off. He lies naked on his back staring at the ceiling for a long time, before suddenly twitches and scrambles out of the bed, like something bit him in the ass.

“Shit,” he murmurs under his breath. “Eggy!” he calls out, stumbling out of the room, “Eggy!”

 

But Eggsy is already gone.

*****************

Charlie’s parents, without a surprise, hate Eggsy guts.

Which is why Roxanne thinks it’s the absolutely worst idea in the history of ideas for Charlie to take Eggsy home for dinner. She tells him so, but Charlie simply shrugs. “Eggsy wants it,” he grumbles, “I don’t know why, but that little wanker always wants strange shits. If I don’t do it, he will bother me to death and I’ll never hear the end of it. So, I’ll just take the less dreadful option out of two.”

They planned to stay the night, Eggsy even brought his pajamas. But before midnight, both of them reappears at the HQ, Charlie silently sulking with a giant, angry red mark in the shape of a hand on the side of his cheek, and Eggsy, without a better way to describe, is __glowing in delight__.

“What happened?” Merlin tilts his chin at Charlie’s face with curiosity. “Did you do that?”

“No,” Eggsy grins, bouncing a little on his ankles, “for once it’s not me. Charlie’s father did that!”

“That’s a first.” Merlin sounds genuinely surprised. Eggsy tries to put an ice bag on Charlie’s face, but Charlie bats his hand away with a scowl, snatches the ice bag into his own hands and presses it below his eyes. “Anyone wants to share?”

“His father called me a slut,” Eggsy puffs his chest out without the faintest trace of mortification, and if anything he looks vaguely proud, “and **_**_Charlie_**_**  told him to fuck off!”

“What are __YOU__  so smug about,” Charlie grumbles, stroking his cheek carefully and winces, “my whole face hurt.”

“C’mon, it can’t be that bad,” Eggsy soothes him, “yer father is old enough to drop dead spontaneously any second. Anyway, I was going to hit that sonovabitch back,” Eggsy ignores Charlie’s whining and the fact he just insulted his boyfriend’s father in his face, “but obviously, they had a bunch of muscle lurking in the background while they ate. So we were both thrown out of the house. His mother cried all the time, and his father tried to hit me with his cane.”

“Sounds like a disaster,” Merlin sympathizes.

“Nah, not at all.” Eggsy explains patiently, “I managed to eat all of the desserts before that, and those puddings were extremely delicious.”

Charlie whines again, like his swollen face is killing him, despite the fact he’s a secret spy who has experienced punched lungs, broken legs and multiple gun shots. Eggsy is by his side in a split second. “Are ye okay?”

“ _ _What do you think__ ,” Charlie asks pointedly, “I have a headache.”

Eggsy laces his fingers through Charlie’s hair, and this time Charlie doesn’t bat his hand away. “I can give ye a head massage,” he suggests, leaning into the other man’s personal space, fingertips gently scratching the other man’s scalp, “’m good at that stuff.”

Charlie hums, somehow both disgustingly and satisfactorily.

“Not here,” Merlin warns them, “I still have work to do. Go snuggle somewhere else.”

Charlie gives him a sour glare, gets to his feet reluctantly from the chair where Eggsy was practically straddling him.

Eggsy shamelessly tails him, literally follows him on the heels. And he doesn’t stop even when Charlie kicks him in the shin and tells him to piss off.

***********************

Things were good for a while after Charlie heroically defended Eggsy’s (dubious) honor against his father, but of course, they went right back to fight shortly after. Because even though Eggsy was impressed and to a large extent deeply moved by the gesture, it didn’t take him long to realize that Charlie is still his old shitty self, so there really is no reason that he should treat him any differently.

This is how they sort things out. Normal people hold hands and talk it through, whist they throw punches and insults at each other’s face. 

The insult’s part always hurts a little more than the actual punch.

 

“Oh, would ye just go back cry to yer mommy!” Eggsy’s face twists into an ugly grin soaked in both triumph and loathe, “or ask yer fucking omnipotent papa to throw me into prison for hurting yer lil’ shitty heart!”

“And what about __YOU__?” Charlie bites out viciously. Later he would regret this so bad that he wants to bang his head into the wall, but right now he’s so angry he feels like exploding, and he desperately wants to wipe that smug grin off the other boy’s face so he let it rolls out of his tongue—

“You lust over your mentor drooling like a fucking dog because your old man’s dead and it fucking fucked you up in the head!!”

 

They all freeze.

*************************

Charlie can’t find Eggsy, but he knows who can.

He also knows Merlin always has a soft spot for the Unwin boy, and he is going to give Charlie a piece of hell if he dares to ask. But Charlie is so desperate that he’s ready to beg, to shed all the pride he wears like a second skin and get down on his knees for mercy, to give whatever it takes so long as Merlin points him the right direction to look.

Which is why he’s surprised that Merlin gives him an address without protest, not even a disapproving side-glance.

Which is why Charlie is banging Harry Hart’s front door as loud as he can at three in the morning.

“Is Eggsy here?” he blurts as soon as the door cracks open.

“Yes,” Harry answers, too polite and collected for a bloke who’s in his pajamas and just got rudely waken up from a good sleep. And at that moment Charlie hates himself a little more than the man in front of him. He understands perfectly how Harry Hart appeals to Eggsy—or to anyone, on that matter. He’s stable, kind, protective, good-looking and reliable. He is an anchor. He is NICE. He is everything that’s Charlie’s not ( _ _well, maybe except the good-looking part__ ), and Charlie blames them both for it.

“I need to talk to him,” Charlie gets to the point directly. “Sir.” He adds, as a second thought.

Harry Hart gives him a piercing look, and Charlie tells himself to not wince. “He doesn’t want to talk to you, that much is clear. Actually, that is why he came to me. You are not allowed to get in this house without my permission, so long as I’m still your superior and outrank you.”

“But, please,” Charlie pleads—begs—“I need to talk to him. Please.”

Harry Hart eyes him calmly for a second. “No,” he says, and Charlie knows that’s it. He can’t say anything to change this man’s mind anymore. “Come back tomorrow. I’ll try to talk to him, and you will see him when he’s ready.”

Charlie nods, swallows hard against the burning lump in his throat. “He’s in love with you, you know?” he suddenly blurts, out of madness or desperation he’s not sure, but at that moment he can’t stop himself. “Eggsy’s in love with you. He would never tell you, but he has been for a long time.”

Harry Hart stirs. Something unreadable flicks through his features under the dim streetlight, but is gone in an instant. “Don’t put it on me,” he answers coldly, “or you’re even more of a coward than I thought.”

 

He slams the door shut in Charlie’s face.

*****************************

TBC.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do it for love. It pops up in his head.
> 
> Charlie scowls at himself for thinking so while going through another page. That’s such bullshit. He’s not doing it for love. He’s doing it for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An up-date! Charlie is having a really bad time. Also, a pinch of Hartwin in this chapter.

So, Eggsy and Harry Hart.

The more Charlie thinks about it, the more it makes sense, and the more he sees how they are __meant__  for each other. And the more he sees it, the more it teases him, and the more he burns.

Harry Hart is…all kinds of right for Eggsy. They must be fucking soul mates in another universe. Charlie knows—he always knows, that Harry Hart is waiting for Eggsy. Since before Eggsy is Kingsman. Since before Eggsy’s 18. Since before Charlie graduated from primary school. Not in a romantic way, of course, because that would be sick. But still, he’s been waiting.

And he’s good for Eggsy. He is kind, he is stable, he lets Eggsy fight but also holds him like a treasure. And it gnaws at Charlie. The fact that Charlie knows this man’s never going to hurt Eggsy, not like the way Charlie does. He is a supporter, a provider, and a protector. And what can Charlie offer, really? He can only love.

But when does THAT matter to anyone?

He smokes so much in so little time, Charlie’s pretty sure his lung is pitched black at this point. And that’s how Eggsy found him. Smoking alone on the balcony, wearing nothing but a pair of dirty sweatpants, accompanied by a crystal ashtray and his bitterness.

“I though ye were burning our flat,” Eggsy leans on the doorframe with a devil-may-care look on his face, “But no, nuh-uh. Yer just pretending to be a chimney. Y’know how I hate ye smoke.”

Charlie does know, and his stomach twists in guilt despite his better judgment. “Did you fuck him?” he asks.

Eggsy snorts. “Hello to ye too, and fuck ye very much. I’m outta ‘ere.” He pulls himself up and begins turning away. Charlie lunges forward and grabs him by the elbow.

“Let go,” Eggsy deadpans, but it doesn’t sound angry, or even annoyed. Just sick and tired, and it frightens Charlie. “Did you?”

Eggsy ignores his question. “Let go, or I break yer nose.”

“I need to know,” Charlie keeps going on, “if you did—”

Eggsy swings a fist at his face so fast Charlie doesn’t even see it coming. Eggsy’s always true to his words, and that’s one thing Charlie likes about him.

***********************

Eggsy moves out of their flat and into Harry’s house the next week, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Charlie loses him; it doesn’t matter how, or why, or when, or even to whom. He loses him, and the rest are just…reasons.

***********************

They still see each other a lot at the HQ; there’s no reason to avoid each other simply because they decided to break it off. They now talk like responsible, professional adults, and Charlie thinks it’s actually not that bad. They even go out for drinks occasionally like a pair of good friends.

Harry Hart never steps in between them when they hang out, and Charlie thinks he is a tool. He either doesn’t care about Eggsy spending time with Charlie, which makes Charlie want to throw back his head and laugh, or he doesn’t believe at all Charlie may still have a chance with Eggsy, which makes Charlie want to punch those perfect teeth.

Charlie only says what he means to say when he’s drunk. “I only know that I gave you my everything,” he slurs, suddenly feeling hurt, “and now you wanna run.”

“Oh save it, Charlie,” Eggsy spits his name like a curse, snatches the bottle away from Charlie’s hands, “don’ play victim. Looks ugly on ye.” He takes a gulp himself, ignoring the bitter glare Charlie shoots his way. “Ye ain’t gave me nothin’. Ye just toss ‘em away and claim it’s for me.”

“That’s not true,” Charlie tries, but it tastes wrong on his tongue. Nothing tastes right in his mouth, and Charlie really ought to stop drinking.

*************************

Charlie compares himself to Harry Hart frequently.

He’s pretty sure he’s richer than Harry Hart (or at least his father’s richer than Harry Hart), but he also knows it’s not money that Eggsy wants. Charlie once made him a stupid origami bird, and Eggsy was so happy he folded it carefully into his wallet. Harry Hart probably makes master-class origami everything.

Charlie imagines hundreds of ways for one man to die—not for Harry Hart, but for himself. He knows Eggsy still has feelings for him even after they broke up, he has to, because that’s the way how Eggsy loves—he loves and loves and doesn’t stop. And Charlie imagines Eggsy weeping over his dead body, imagines Eggsy regretting with a broken heart, imagines Eggsy saying sorry, kissing Charlie’s cold lips and clutching at his hand while the other’s trying to pull him away.

And then he imagines Harry Hart gently grabbing Eggsy’s shoulder and dragging him into his warm arms, pushing his forehead against the front of his dress shirt and mumbling soothing nonsense into Eggsy’s ears.

Suddenly, the image is not so appealing any more.

**********************

“I only want you to be happy,” Charlie tells the other boy one day, and it comes out so sincere that Charlie almost gives himself a heart attack.

But Eggsy only tosses him an unimpressed look. “Nah ye don’t.”

Charlie’s insulted. “Yes I do!”

“Nah,” Eggsy looks at him, “ye don’t.”

*********************

_“D’ye ever want to be a fish?”_

_Charlie squints down. “Fish?” he grimaces, “What fish. why fish?”_

_“I don’ know. They don’ talk to each other. Like, ever. It must be so quite down in the water,” Eggsy murmurs, more to himself than to Charlie. His cheek is warm against Charlie’s bare chest, a solid weight pins him down on the couch. His ear is strangely cold, though, a chill tickling on Charlie’s skin. “They see other fish, but they don’ talk. And they never talk to each other in their whole life. They just...look at each other a lot. ”_

_Charlie thinks about it. “Is this your way  of  telling me to shut up?”_

_Eggsy chuckles, and  it vibrates through Charlie’s flesh and bones. “No,” he amuses, “I quite enjoy yer talk sometimes. When yer not being a dick.”_

_“And here I thought that’s y our  favorite body part of m ine .”_

_Eggsy laughs out loud this time, and tickles Charlie. But that does no good, because Charlie is not ticklish at all. Not on the skin, at least. Eggsy realizes it quickly enough, so he bites Charlie on his shoulder._

_“Ow,” Charlie hisses, “watch it.”_

_Eggsy tilts his head up and flashes him a toothy grin. Charlie stares down at him, and suddenly he  feels  itchy  all over again. The old yearning burning under his skin. He opens his mouth, to say something or to bite back he hasn’t decided, but he is going to—_

A sudden noise yanks him back into the living world. Charlie blinks to the ceiling, limbs tangled in the sheet. It’s a dream. Of course it’s a dream. He hasn’t seen Eggsy naked for over half a year now. Not that he is counting.

He wonders for a while, among all the memory he has, why does his subconsciousness choose this particular one to show him?

Charlie picks up his cellphone when it gets more and more annoying. “What?”

“Come to HQ,” a female voice tells him, “Arthur wants to see you.”

*************************************

“So what do you say?” Chester King eyes him over the glass of wine he poured them both a while ago, “me and your father...we hold great expectation on you. That’s why we decided to let you in on this.”

Charlie nods. “I appreciate it, sir. So, who else knows it?” 

The old man flashes him a smile; the coldest, most condescending and pitying smile Charlie has ever seen. Charlie wishes he can do that too someday in the future. “A few,” he answers, which is not an answer at all.

Charlie nods again and drinks his wine. “What about those who hasn’t chosen a side yet?” he asks, “there might be someone else who’s willing to help us on this.”

Arthur smiles again when Charlie said ‘us’. A slow and satisfied smile, which is even creepier than the last one. “Our recruit has already been...accomplished.” He tilts his glass in a silent toast, “there’s no one else we need now. After all, bringing people along is not our priority.”

“Such a shame,” Charlie shrugs, “you sure this can work? What if other people find out? I imagine there would be at least a few. You see, that’s kind of what we do here.”

“Of course, of course.” The old man nods thoughtfully, “I’m quite aware of that. But worry not. They are being taken care of.”

“Excellent.” Charlie grins, “Guess I have some packing to do now?”

“Yes,” the old man tilts his head towards the door, “you should go. You’d better hurry. The plan is taking off in three hours.”

************************

 _He doesn’t trust me a single bit,_ Charlie thinks to himself bitterly, _that old bastard. Three hours my ass._

If Chester King really trusts him with his dirty little secret (which is very dirty but not little at all), he would’ve told him days ago. Weeks ago, considering how long the old sneaky bastard’s been plotting on this. Charlie was let in on the last minute so he can only cause minimal trouble even if he refuses.

Paranoia must come with old age. It’s a package deal. Charlie loathes the idea that he’s not fully trusted _ _—_ even by his own father! Nobody told him anything until now. He could totally say yes! Why would he not? Slouching on the couch with a champagne in his hand while the rest of the world die. It’s like Christmas._

 _I could say yes _,__ Charlie tells himself, adjusting the little torch between his teeth so he can read the paper better, _I DID SAY YES. I just don’t understand why they think it’s possible that I would betray them. I mean, I am totally betraying them now, but why would THEY think I would betray them?_

His eyes hurt for reading in the dark for too long. Just like he said, paranoia comes with old age. He can’t believe Chester King had all the details printed down on the paper! Actually papers! There must be thousands pages of them. He is either super into old-fashioned way, or he is afraid of Merlin so much that he doesn’t dare to leave a single trace in the system. Charlie doubts it’s the first.

Fuck, his eyes hurt. His head hurts. His knuckles hurt, for swinging at the guard outside the room so hard. He should’ve brought a gun. They all going to die anyway. Including Charlie. Charlie is going to die anyway.

 _Do it for love._ It pops up in his head.

Charlie scowls at himself for thinking so while going through another page. That’s such bullshit. He’s not doing it for love. He’s doing it for himself.

This is not Charlie’s love. Charlie’s love is supposed to be mean, fierce and unforgiving. Charlie loves himself too much to do the silent sacrifice shit. He is a bad person, a very rich, very arrogant bad person, and Charlie takes pride in that.

But Eggsy is so upright. And Harry Hart is so upright. Charlie hates them both for being upright, and he hates himself for trying to be upright. This is not supposed to be happening. This is not the way. This is not Charlie, and Charlie hates to change.

The only consolation Charlie has right now, is the fact that if he’s indeed killed for trying to save the world, then at least Eggsy would know well that Charlie doesn’t give a shit about the world and that he gives his life only to save Eggsy, and Eggsy would never forgive himself, and Charlie would have Eggsy’s love forever, because who could compete with a dead guy? Charlie would never do anything wrong anymore. He’s dead, after all.

He can hear footsteps approaching. Someone must noticed the missing guard. About time! Charlie doesn’t even know Kingsman’s security system can be so slow. He’s finished reading anyway.

Charlie takes out his phone and takes a shot of the paper before hitting the send button. Someone is yelling outside.

 _Only fish don’t talk_ , he thinks to himself and dials the number. It only takes a few beats for the other man to pick up. “Hello?”

“Don’t go to that church,” Charlie doesn’t bother to make small talk, “Don’t go to Kentucky. It’s a trap.”

A beat of silence. “How do you know about Kentu—”

“Shut up and listen to me. Arthur’s crazy. He is with Valentine the whole time, since the beginning. They’re going to launch the SIM card. Don’t let them.” Someone is banging on the door, and Charlie’s feeling eerily calm. “And if you let them, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Tell Merlin to find the mountain bunker. I already texted him the address.”

Another beat of silence. “Charlie,” Harry Hart says, and it sounds so strange, so foreign, that Charlie realizes it’s the first time Harry Hart ever calls him that, “Where are you?”

Charlie takes in a deep breathe. “None of your business,” he bites out, childishly, “just move your ass and stop those bonkers.”

The door’s crashed down with a loud bang. And suddenly, Charlie is afraid. He doesn’t want to be upright anymore. It’s a bad idea. Being a good man sucks, and look where it leads him—Charlie can’t believe he’s going to die on the first try. And Eggsy—Eggsy is not ever going to forgive himself. That’s kind of the whole point, sure, but Charlie suddenly doesn’t remember why this is the whole point in the first place, and his heart jumps to his throat just by thinking that, the possibility that Eggsy would never be happy again, that he would never—

“Take care of Eggsy,” he blurts out, “take care of him or I’ll hunt you to the hell.”

A bunch of muscle in black suits break in through the door, and the phone is violently yanked away from Charlie’s hold in an instant. Charlie tries to put up a fight, but within a minute he is on the floor, face pushed into the carpet and both wrists pinned behind his back.

Chester King steps out from behind them. He makes a dismissive wave, and the pressure on his shoulder is gone. Charlie stumbles to his feet immediately, and looks up to the black muzzle of a gun.

“You disappoint me,” Arthur says coldly, “and your father. We had so much hope in you.”

“Indeed?” Charlie spits. “That’s too bad, because I don’t give a fuck. Now you listen, you crazy old dog, I’m not goin—”

Arthur pulls the trigger, shoots him right in the chest, and Charlie stumbles back.

***************************

TBC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three done, one more to go :D


End file.
